


Crowned by Fire

by Danger_Scientist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brutality! Finish her! .....Round 2....FIGHT!!!, Chiss, Chiss Ascendancy, Dark Troopers, Dominant Hux, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Eventual Smut, Eventual Submissive OFC, F/M, Knights of Ren - Freeform, Mind Fuck, Mind Games, Multi, Psytech, Resistance, Slow Burn, The First Order, War Commissar - First Commissar, dominant OFC, kinky fuckery, science!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7073143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danger_Scientist/pseuds/Danger_Scientist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azria Delvardus is one of the premier officers known as psytechs in the First Order’s Special Training Corps. However, on paper, her military rank is stated to be First Commissar. Amongst the ranks of the First Order, it is well known that the Special Training Corps is merely the cover for the Psychological Operations division, PsyOps. </p>
<p>Splitting her time between duties on and off the battlefield, she is responsible for having a hand in both the design and implementation of the training methods utilized on the First Order’s Stormtrooper divisions. As a psytech, her primary responsibility is to function as a cognitive engineer, enforcing the indoctrination and conformity protocols within the First Order’s ranks. On the side, she is also affiliated with the First Order Security Bureau and functions as a consultant in creating personality profiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like all of my other fics, this story is centered around an original female character. Unlike my other fics, I have decided I am going to take a shot at including canon characters, which is always something I have avoided because I am afraid to butcher them with my interpretations. We'll see how this goes, though.
> 
> The setting for this is a bit on the alternate universe side seeing as I am going to hesitantly place the events herein prior to TFA. One of the things I have thought the novelizations lack is more development of the psytech division and some of the military structure. While there is still plenty of time for Disney to rectify this, I decided to add my own spin on it all. I am hoping this will be a fairly accurate depiction of where Disney should go with the psytechs and conformity protocols.
> 
> Disclaimer: Yes, I am an actual scientist. One of my degrees is in psychology, so sorry if I bore you with a sciencey fic that delves wayyyyy too deeply into the First Order psytech division. I also design soldier training simulations for the military and work on AIs, so I am pretty much General Hux in real life.

Azria Delvardus is one of the premier officers known as psytechs in the First Order’s Special Training Corps. However, on paper, her military rank is stated to be First Commissar. Amongst the ranks of the First Order, it is well known that the Special Training Corps is merely the cover for the Psychological Operations division, PsyOps.

Splitting her time between duties on and off the battlefield, she is responsible for having a hand in both the design and implementation of the training methods utilized on the First Order’s Stormtrooper divisions. As a psytech, her primary responsibility is to function as a cognitive engineer, enforcing the indoctrination and conformity protocols within the First Order’s ranks. On the side, she is also affiliated with the First Order Security Bureau and functions as a consultant in creating personality profiles.  


* * *

   
Car 18 – _Solar Maiden_  
Maglev Train en route to Pesktda  
Secret Frontline Operations of the First Order – Garqi, Outer Rim Territories

Azria Delvardus, younger sister to Captain Phasma and one of the First Order’s premier psytechs, was quietly reclining on one of the crash couches in her personal train car. Holopad in her lap, she was keeping a close eye on the First Order’s troops stationed throughout the train. Most of those assembled for this operation were veteran Stormtroopers with very few cadets interspersed within their ranks. Where most looked at her and saw a cold-hearted young woman, those that were truly acquainted with her knew differently. The Psytech was one of the few in the First Order who did not see the Stormtroopers under her care as nothing more than nameless and faceless disposable troops. They were more than that to her and while they were identified by letters and numbers, and nothing more – she ensured they were taken care of. It was one of the more positive traits her elder sister seemed to lack.

All variety of telemetry data from the biosensors affixed to each individual Stormtrooper flashed across the screen of her holopad. Every so often she would have to comm one of the new recruits informing them that their readings were in an undesirable range. _‘FO-4522, biosensors have indicated that your heart rate is 3.5% above the acceptable range. Correct this immediately.’_ The response was always prompt. She really did care, truly. Reading through further reports, Azria crossed one slender leg over the other as she reached over for her glass of stim tea and brought the mug to her lips, taking a sip. Pausing in her work a moment, she looked up and took note of the troopers standing at attention around the car. The comm units in their helmets began to click wildly, indicating that messages were being relayed. One trooper was just about to approach the Psytech when Atlantia Ren burst into her car.

:: It appears we have some company... Several pirates are attacking the forward cars. I suggest you get somewhere safe, whilst I deal with our interlopers... :: The vocabulator on the small woman’s mask distorted her voice to the point that the Imperial suspected her true voice was far less intimidating to others.

Azria simply arched a single eyebrow as she looked up at the rather diminutive Knight of Ren, taking another sip of her stim tea before gracefully placing the mug on the side table located where she was sitting. Silently watching the woman as she spoke, her body language reflected the calm and control the Psytech possessed. She had not come this far without some semblance of self-control. Expressive blue eyes studied the Knight, though they were more steel blue in colour, ringed with the deepest indigo – her gaze intense and cold like ice. Many often felt an electrical chill run the length of their spines in her presence, the way she held herself with unquestionable confidence – she did not seek to capture others’ attention, but rather to defy it. Still, the woman remained quiet and motionless as the gears of her mind churned in the silence. Finally, she placed her holopad on the side table as well before standing and placing herself toe to toe with the Knight of Ren. Not many had courage enough to do such a thing for the Knights of Ren had gained a wild reputation for being particularly unpredictable at times. And though this woman stood around only 1 meter, she still had a healthy respect for her. However, she had yet to build a profile on this Atlantia Ren for this was her first contact with the woman, but she had been assigned to the First Commissar’s detail for the duration of this operation and as such, she expected complete obedience.

Standing there, she brushed a hand down her uniform; one, which was of standard First Order issue and did not denote her rank nor standing within the military. Though, those that knew her face did not need any reminder of exactly who she is. The dark uniform was newly pressed and in clean order, lined in armorweave given that she opted to forego her usual ensemble of chromium armour, fashioned to appear identical to that of her sister.

At last, she deigned to speak and her voice was unexpected. It was in the mid-range with just enough sensuality to be agreeable in this context and with a hint of power more than her short stature would suggest. It was educated and intelligent, her Imperial accent heavy. Though, it was clear she was disciplined and rather accustomed to others obeying her orders without question. However, she does not take this tone of authority with the woman in front of her. She was smoother, quieter, and more professional – speaking in measured cadences.

“My dear Knight of Ren, do not let it slip your mind that I did not get to where I am today without participating in a few firefights.” She scoffs and the Stormtroopers in the car recoil, wincing, and are surprised she does not reprimand the Knight of Ren. Azria had learned how to deal with and behave around Force users at her elder sister’s insistence, so she was perfectly comfortable with treating them as her equal. “I daresay the safest place for myself would be near you, yes?” It is less of a question and more of a command; however, it is the Knight of Ren’s choice. Azria reaches down and unbuckles the strap on the holster for her SE-44C blaster pistol before walking over to the other side of the room and stepping behind the small bar to open one of the cabinets. Pulling out a F-11D blaster rifle with a chromium finish, stock, and recurved trigger guard, she places it on the bar before turning back once more. Grabbing something smaller, she slips it into her breast pocket before removing a small, serrated combat knife and strapping it to her thigh. Picking up the blaster rifle, she turns to Atlantia, “Shall we?”

:: Very well First Commissar, just don’t blame me if someone shoots your butt... :: The Knight of Ren deadpans.  


* * *

  _  
In Between Car 18 and 19_

As Azria makes her way out of Car 18, she slings her F-11D blaster rifle over her shoulder and pauses just long enough to tap her PAC20 visual wrist comlink. The small screen on the inside of her wrist had chimed at her moments before and she had not the time to answer it until now. It was a notification concerning one of the veteran Stormtroopers under her watch that had been assigned to the latter half of maglev train. _FN-3266_. Frowning, the Imperial refreshes the telemetry data from the trooper’s biosensors. There was no way this was correct. What had happened? The laughter evaporated from her eyes, her customary warmth gone faster than a twi’lek’s virginity. “Atlantia!” Azria shouts over the roar of the wind viciously whipping by them. It was clear her focus was on the small screen on the inside of her wrist as she furiously tapped away at it.

It appeared the Imperial’s focus was somewhere beyond the Knight of Ren, as if Atlantia had become invisible to her. The biosensor data indicated that approximately 30 seconds ago _FN-3266_ experienced a climb in heart rate that registered at 130% above acceptable levels, a respiration rate 46% above acceptable levels, a body temperature that exceeded well beyond three standard deviations of _FN-3266’s_ mean, and a perspiration rate several ounces beyond what it should have been. All of these biosensor readings would have been what the First Commissar would have expected of a Stormtrooper engaging in combat. But then all telemetry data appeared to rapidly decline before terminating. That could only mean one thing. “Come with me, Knight of Ren. I have a job for you.”

Obediently, the Knight follows behind the First Commissar before she is directed to the roof. With a nod, the short woman acknowledges Azria’s order. :: Don’t hesitate to call if you need help... I'd hate for that fine ass to be damaged. ::

Tapping her wrist comlink again, Azria opens up an encrypted channel to all First Order military personnel. “This is Azria Delvardus speaking.” While the Imperial was more than confident in the First Order’s ability to encrypt their personal military communications channels, she knew there was always the possibility for someone else to be listening. Thus, she purposely did not announce her rank and instead merely used her name. It was only a name. A name that had zero meaning to whoever was currently attacking her train. All of the First Order military personnel knew better than to use ranks at times like these, but one could never be too careful. “Multiple contacts have been sighted near the fore and aft of the train. I want all military personnel on high alert. This is not a drill. Move to intercept all red forces.” Azria’s voice held a tone of authority as she spoke with a cold formality, her Imperial accent heavy.

Turning back to Atlantia, the Imperial cuts the comm channel and takes hold of her blaster rifle, dismissing the Knight of Ren. Flicking off the safety, she checks the integrity of the power pack and reinserts it with a click. Blinking several times in quick succession, her retinal combat implant comes online and immediately begins feeding her telemetry data about the surrounding friendlies and prompting her to paint the red forces. Her facial features held a stillness indicative of her state of mind and her movements belied the extensiveness of her combat training. The time for deliberation was over. The look in her eyes was enough to tell those she was surrounded by that she would have no problem pulling the trigger and there was a tenseness she was not even trying to mask. Turning to look over her shoulder, Azria makes eye contact with the squad of troopers that had been stationed in her personal car. Waving two fingers to the side of her head, she grabs their attention and signals for them to follow her as they pass into car 19.  


* * *

   
_Car 19_

Azria slid her palm against the biometric scanner outside the door to car 19. Although, the door looked more like a blast door. A loud clank resounded throughout the car they were currently standing in as the locking mechanisms disengaged and the door slowly began to roll open. Utilizing this time wisely, Azria reaches up and taps a particular spot right behind her ear to activate her Psicom 1260 Interface. After the wireless interface initiates a connection, the Imperial AI, whom liked to be referred to in the male gender as AI Pratts issued his usual cheeky greeting, “’Ello, sweetheart. About time you came out to play. I feel I should inform you that I have been violated several times now in your absence.” AI Pratts activated the augmented display on her retinal combat implant and suddenly a male Mon Calamari began walking alongside the Imperial through the car as she approached the opposing door and once more pressed her palm to the biometric scanner. As the door to car 20 slowly began to roll open, Azria turned to AI Pratts and spoke in a coolly authoritative tone with a trace of roughness to her voice, opting to ignore his smart remarks, “Activate defensive protocols. FO-access-Priority-Alpha-Code-Zero.”

“FO-access-Priority-Alpha-Code-Zero, confirmed. Activating defensive protocols.” The Imperial AI intoned. “Will I need to take Omega Order Five into consideration?” AI Pratts questioned, and if she were not mistaken, there was an edge of insolence to his voice. “Not yet.” Azria says with a chuckle. She could almost see the sense of relief wash over him, it was rather amusing. “Now get to work.”  


* * *

   
_Car 20_

The AI mock salutes the First Commissar before fading from existence and Azria steps over the threshold into car 20, striking an imposing figure as she stands still and silent, gaining her situational awareness. Glancing over her shoulder, she makes eye contact with her squad and holds her arm up, hand balled into a fist, stopping everyone in their tracks. Suddenly the PA system aboard the train activates with a crackle and Azria hazards a glance up at the ceiling.

“Thank you all for your service to our great cause. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” AI Pratts speaks over the PA in a smooth baritone voice and there is almost a hint of smug superiority in his voice as a series of loud clicks resonates throughout car 20. The civilian passengers look up at the ceiling with expressions of distress and shock before their eyes are drawn to Azria and her crew standing as silent observers to this arcane horror. The cold stare of the First Commissar is enough to set the civilians edging out of harm’s way – pity, it was not something they could actually escape. By now, it is clear that nothing good was going to happen next. The interior automated defense system activates as an autoturret drops down from a compartment in the ceiling in all four corners of the car. In a matter of seconds, the car erupts into the screaming and begging of the masses. To which the response was the immediate chatter of blaster bolts being discharged across the cabin. Azria and those around her remained safe from the carnage, AI Pratts saw to that.

Silence fell with the sickening speed of an electroguillotine, complete with a public spectacle, condemnation and all. Without hesitation, Azria points with her index finger toward the ceiling before straightening her arm to signal for the squad to move ahead of her. The Special Forces Stormtroopers fan out across the car and take up defensive positions, moving the clutter of the bodies out of their immediate paths of egress. Flipping tables and repositioning crates, they began to settle in for the long haul.  


* * *

   
_Car 26_

And here was the violation of which AI Pratts had been tracking. The AI’s connection tracing protocols had been running the second Corinne, an invading AI, began initiating a direct connection with his own system. “Mm mm…it has been quite some time since someone violated me in such a delicious manner. Enjoying our interfacing session, my dear? I can be much more gentle if you like.” AI Pratts spoke in rich, silky tones directly to the trespassing AI, Corinne, in a manner that could only be construed as one who was rather cocksure.

Before Corinne could make his presence known, the AI fires up the automated defense system in car 26. Four autoturrets drop down from hidden compartments in the ceiling, covering the four corners of the cabin. Paying no heed to any civilians that may be in harm’s way, AI Pratts paints targets directly upon the interlopers intruding upon his train. Simultaneously, AI Pratts initiated an offensive protocol that sought to break through Corinne’s firewalls by simply overloading her system with garbage data entries and queries. In between the waves of the garbage assault, the Imperial AI also attempted to insert a backdoor protocol into Corinne’s programming. This would more than likely go unnoticed due to the sheer volume of the data assault underway. However, this simple piece of code would afford AI Pratts a remote way to access everything in Corinne’s databanks and keep an eye on her and the interlopers that accompanied her. All without leaving the slightest trace or hint of his ongoing presence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the train heist continues and filthy Jawas try to steal the show...

_Car 20_

Azria moves to secure the door to the vault on car 19, pulling the leather glove from her hand finger by finger with her teeth. Once more swiping her palm over the biometric scanner, she replaces the black leather glove on her hand. The hall was still passable, however, and she left that open for a very good reason. The gears to the vault door whine in protest as it slowly slides closed and she turns once more to face the carnage before her.

This was certainly not part of the plan. Activating the defensive protocols should have only caused AI Pratts to go after the interlopers on the train, not shoot up a whole car full of civilians and be snarky about it. It was as if his limiters had been removed – he was no longer constrained by the boundaries restricting his actions, there were no longer any limits to what he was prepared to do to ensure victory. The Imperial began to wonder whether his behavioral circuitry matrix had been tampered with because she was quite certain – no, Azria was positive she had not missed any bugs in his programming. Blaster bolts! When General Hux found out, he was going to vape her on the spot.

The First Commissar stood there upright and rigid as her visual wrist comlink chimes at her once more and Atlantia’s voice rang out clearly through the bead in her ear. :: Roger. Can it, Banshee. No more discussing my fine ass over comms. Sovereign, out. ::

Looking back down at her comm as it chimed again, she sighed at the sheer amount of biosensor termination notifications. “Pratts!” The Imperial shouted in a voice that would make anyone quake had it been directed at them – it was a voice of authority, vibrating with power and command. Though, it was clear her temper was on a hair-trigger when it came to the Imperial AI.

“Sir?” The AI asked in a questioningly, meek tone as he activated the augmented display in her retinal implant, his Mon Calamari form following not long after.

“Why is the door to the main cockpit pod on MY train registering as breeched?” The AI seemed to stand there stupidly silent for a long moment, projected eyes appearing unfocused and dim. Then again, when did Mon Cals ever display any semblance of intelligence? “Pratts!”

Suddenly the AI refocused on her, “Sir, it appears there is a Jawa operating the control systems of your train.”

“Please Pratts, would you care to enlighten me as to why there is currently a filthy Jawa on my train?” AI Pratts went to respond to the First Commissar, but was stopped as the Jawa keyed the intercom and began speaking.

:: This is your conductor speaking. The train will experience some slight turbulence…… And then explode! ::

There is a brief pause as the intercom erupts in static noise so deafening that the Imperial winces in response.

:: ALLLLLL ABBBOOOOARRRRDDDD!!! :: A final announcement echoes all throughout each car on the _Solar Maiden_ before the intercom clicks off.

Azria sucked in a deep breath as she shouldered her rifle and crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a hip as she stared down the AI. Pratts scanned her face for some clue as to what she was thinking, the silence droning on and hanging in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. He expected her to lecture him, turn red in the face, and scream at him. He did not expect this. This quiet storm. The glare Azria gave the Imperial AI caused him to visibly wilt. Then before even giving him a chance to respond, she held a hand up to silence him. “No. Go take care of it. Now!”

“Yes, sir!” The Imperial AI fired off a salute before disappearing from her sight. Movement caught the corner of her eye and Azria turned her head slightly to look out the viewport. She had to hand it to the First Order engineers; they sure did a number on the inertial compensators since she had not even noted the increase in speed. Clearly, they had now passed regulation speed limits. Turning her attention back to the situation at hand, she takes hold of her F-11D blaster rifle and tucks it into the crook of her arm.  
  


* * *

  
_Car 1_

AI Pratts had to hand it to himself; he sure knew how to get on the First Commissar’s sithspit list. His first order of business was to cut the Jawa’s access to the maglev train’s control system, effectively shutting the thing out. Next was the silencing of the music blasting over the train intercom. This was not First Order-approved material. It was garbage! It was like a Merr-Sonn Excluder and he was the Shredder bat. He would have fallen right out of the sky, if such a thing were possible, solely from the high frequencies currently playing over the intercom. Only First Order-approved literature, First Order-approved vids, and First Order-approved music were allowed to be consumed by any First Order personnel. It was the task laid at the feet of the illustrious First Order to initially remove disorder from within its own ranks before it sought to extricate that which had begun to grow rampant within the galaxy at large. This was the path to progress, to returning the galactic civilizations to some semblance of stability that once existed under the rule of the Empire long past.

AI Pratts was a spiteful AI to the end. Even with Omega Order Five hanging over his head, his own execution drawing near. As such, he felt the need to torment all of the interlopers on the train – these were not merely creative tales he had been weaving, but long forgotten dreams he was slowly bringing into existence. He enjoyed seeing their despair and somehow it made his own suffering that much more bearable. His emotions did not match the grimness of the situation. Where he felt glee, there should have been anguish. Nope… Nope, nope, nope.

The Imperial AI began sorting through his subroutines and defensive protocols until the decision support system finally pronounced a verdict. This would be certain to light up the night, render atoms into merely atoms once more as organic bodies became nothing more than a borrowed element forged in a star. AI Pratts did not have any deliberate reason to kill these people; it was simply the most logical way to ensure the First Order’s success. It seemed as if he had carefully choreographed it, when in all reality it was nothing more than an improvisation. This was only fair.

As the train rounded the bend, the option to take one of two forks in the tracks presented itself. The left track was the main line and the track they were expected to take according to the schedule that had been so meticulously laid out. The right set of tracks curved, eventually running perpendicular to the left track. These tracks were still supposed to be closed for servicing, but after consulting his database, Pratts decided it would be safe to travel. He just knew the First Commissar wanted the filthy Jawa off her train and given the fact that she did not specify how, he was free to do as he pleased.

Her mistake.

So Pratts accessed the protocols governing the energy coupling mechanisms linking car 1 to car 2. Given that all cars on the maglev train were equipped with their own repulsorlift generator, it would make no difference if they lost one car…or a few. So the Imperial AI deactivated the coupling mechanism just before they reached the fork in the track. However, the latter half of the train maintained the same speed momentarily so as to not alert the Jawa to what was going on. Then right as the train was just about to cross the fork in the tracks, Pratts slowed the latter half of the train, which resulted in car 1 shooting away down the left set of tracks, while the rest of the train veered off down the right set of tracks.

“All aboard? I think not.” If he actually had physical hands, the Imperial AI would have acted as if he were brushing them off. “My job here is done.”  
  


* * *

  
_Car 20_

Observing the flames streak by the viewport, Azria merely arches an eyebrow. Her eyes wander up the reflective surface of the transparisteel viewport and for a moment, she sees Phasma, her elder sister looking back at her. She had always been the one she looked to at times like these, she was a natural born leader it seemed and that was why she had always tried to imitate her when she had been younger.

Kylo Ren’s voice broke her from her reverie, though. She was very much like Phasma in several aspects, one of which being the fact that she made a point of knowing every shred of information or detail she could find about those she worked with. So the second the voice came over the comm bead in her ear, she knew it was the other Knight of Ren that had been assigned to her detail, Kylo. The First Commissar’s fingers drifted across the visual comlink unit on her wrist as she sent a double click resonating across the silent channel, keying the mic twice, in response to Kylo. This indicated her confirmation of the message received and affirmed that she would be standing by for a sitrep.

Again, her comm unit chimed as termination notifications flashed across the small viewscreen mounted on the inside of her wrist. There was also a message from AI Pratts. “Pratts. Status report?” Suddenly the form of the Mon Cal AI flickered into view just off to her left. He fired off a salute before beginning to speak.

“Sir, your filthy Jawa problem has been dealt with.” Azria crooks an eyebrow, but says nothing. Part of her wonders how he dealt with it, but she does not bother to ask. “Good. What about the rear cars?”

“Sir, I activated the defensive protocols…” The Imperial gritted her teeth, she had a feeling she was not going to like what came next. “..but for some reason my access to car 26 has been impeded. I am unaware of what is going on in there, but car 27 and car 25 remain clear.” That was where they were then, car 26. She had them in her sights now. “Sir?”

“Get out of my sight, Pratts.” The Imperial AI was smart because he disappeared immediately without another word.

However, this was turning into a bit more than a mere obstacle in the road. It appeared fate was presenting her with an opportunity to prove herself. An opportunity to think harder, to develop a new solution. Azria felt a trickle of courage come to light deep inside her – she grasped it, embraced it, clung onto it and urged it to grow. It was an amazing feeling – she felt as if any doubts or deep-seated fears flew from her body, as the warrior broke free inside of her. She could do anything.

Walking to the front of the car, the First Commissar positions herself to the side of the door before turning and looking at her squad. Taking a deep breath, she decided it was now or never. Waving two fingers by the side of her head, she grabs their attention and signals for them to follow her. However, she first makes eye contact with each and every member of her squad, waiting for them to nod in affirmation of her orders. Tapping the two Stormtroopers just ahead of her, to the left and right, she points at the door. They nod before she depresses the controls to open it.  
  


* * *

  
_Car 21_

Azria taps her two troopers on their shoulder pauldrons once more and they step over the threshold into car 21. Following both of the troopers in front of her, the Imperial and her squad suddenly find themselves face to face with eight other elite Stormtroopers. Not about to lower her guard, even among allies, the Imperial approaches the commanding officer. “Think you and your men are up for some action, Sergeant?” Though Azria presented it as a question, it was less of a request and more of a command she expected to be fulfilled. “I have it on good word that there is some fun waiting for us in car 26.” A smirk slowly spreads across her lips, a hint of deviousness reflecting in her eyes. Nevertheless, the much smaller woman held herself with the utmost confidence, her bearing reflecting one of authority.

The Sergeant snaps off a quick salute to Azria, “First Commissar, it is good to see you are well… My men and I would be honoured to join you.” The Imperial nodded in approval to the commanding officer of the other squad.

Here was a woman who knew how to toe the line between being one of the men, or women in several cases, rather than appearing as if she were above them, forbidden and powerful. Untouchable and something vaguely inhuman compared to them. Azria knew how to distance herself just enough that no one ever managed to forget who she was, always showing respect, but never fear. These were the men and women of the First Order that she had trained, some from birth or early youth, some farther along in their lives. Even those that may have been former dissenters to the First Order’s causes and had seen the error of their ways, rededicating themselves to the First Order and the message they sought to burn across the starways in their march to order. What she and the First Order offered their people was freedom. Something they had never before tasted. Not even with the New Republic supporting its citizenry as they claimed – instead, sitting in stagnation, incapacitated by corruption and depravity. Not even with the Jedi guarding their doorstep – they were the ultimate source of disorder in the galaxy at large, leaving all they claimed to protect to simply wither and die. No, the First Order would put an end to this decadence, this exploitation of the galactic citizenry. All would remember today as the day that the First Order took hold of a fire that started thousands of years ago and nursed it until it became what it was always destined to be. This was not just a call to arms, it was the only proclamation that will ever matter. Today, the First Order would begin to bring law, at long last, to what had become a lawless galaxy...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More pieces are added to the dejarik board and one of the mythical Jedi shows his face. The true purpose of the train heist becomes obscured to an even greater extent...

_Car 21_  

It is not long before more First Order troops are scrambled to Azria’s location, though there are not many to spare given the current conflict raging in the front of the train and the supposed Jedi sighting atop the roof per Atlantia’s most recent sitrep. A Major in the First Order’s military by the surname of Madine is next to join her ensemble with a small fire team of his own. He is quick to snap a crisp salute in her direction before proceeding to report in.

“First Commissar, we have activated two of the four Glory-class Dark Troopers. However, the Inquisitoriums have encountered some…issues in their reactivation.” He pauses, glancing at the woman nervously, then decides to continue when she says nothing, remaining impassive in her expression. “I assure you, the engineers are working diligently to awaken the remaining Dark Troopers.”

Azria heard them long before she could even see them. Dark Troopers. She gave pause and simply stared as they lumbered into the cabin, watching more out of fascination and anticipation than anything else. It was about time they were activated and brought online. These Glory-class troopers made her feel as small as ever, towering over her as she looked upon them with satisfaction written across her face. Their physique, alone, was intimidating. Dark, hulking monsters. These were not your average monsters though; these were the stuff of nightmares, clad in obsidian armour and armed to the teeth. The Imperial was only glad that they were on her side for she had no desire to stand toe to toe with one of these monstrosities. Pity that there would not be much left of the trespassers on her train, after all, it would be their funeral if they refused to bend the knee.

Turning to Major Madine, the First Commissar’s eyes wander to the two Stormtroopers flanking him as she appraises them. “That is delightful to hear, Major. See to it that the remaining Dark Troopers are activated sooner rather than later.” As she says this, her eyes return to the Major, fixing him with her stare as she leaves the warning unspoken.

Now, of all times, would she not tolerate failure. It was clear that she was not a woman easily pleased, if the edge of irritation creeping into her expression was anything to go by. The time for patience had long passed up the First Commissar, her lips straightening into a thin line before her expression resumes a look of passivity. “The most recent report from my AI indicates that the trespassers are in car 26. Major, let us send these interlopers…” The small woman walked around the two Glory-class Dark Troopers, her lip curling upwards ever so slightly as her gaze wanders over the colossal machinations before her. If one did not know any better, they might have taken it as a sign of disgust, but it was more an expression of detached fascination as she imagined the fate that awaited those who did not yield. Leveling her gaze on the Major, Azria continues speaking, “…a message if they refuse to bend the knee..” Tucking her chromium blaster rifle in the crook of her elbow, the First Commissar turns her head to contemplate the unopened portal between their cabin and car 22.

“The actions of these terrorists cannot be allowed to go unpunished. I will see to it personally... Follow my lead and do not fire unless authorized or they make first contact.” These orders may have appeared strange coming from anyone else, but given that it was Delvardus, herself, communicating them, it was not too far-fetched to assume that Azria had a wild card up her sleeve. With her orders issued, the First Commissar motions for the Major to follow her and her squad.

Pausing about midway through crossing the car, Azria walks over to a terminal affixed to the outer wall of the car and taps a few buttons on the console to bring it to life before wandering away and scanning the room around her. “Pratts!” She shouted out into thin air, awaiting the Imperial AI’s response. It was then that a decent sized explosion sounded a couple cars down and the floor of the train rattled only slightly in response, though it was enough for Azria to notice.

“Sir, I have determined that an electromagnetic pulse has disrupted my systems in car 26 and extended to a section of car 25.” Azria looks up from the ground she had been examining for the duration of the AI’s report. “Reboot your systems then, I need to know what is happening on my train right now. Do I make myself clear?” Her eyes narrowed slightly, yet her voice remained firm and calm. It was a bit unnerving.

“Crystal, sir. I am taking care of it as we speak…..You should like to know that four of the trespassers are located in car 22 and another appears to be in car 23.” The Imperial merely nods in response to this information.

“Put defensive protocols on standby then, prime the shield generator and emitters. I have no doubt these filthy creatures mean to strike us down. The moment anyone makes a move, I want those ray shields brought online without delay.” Pursing her lips, she turns back toward the aft of the cabin and continues her previous path toward car 22.

“Yes, sir.” Pratts is quick to reply before disappearing once more.

As she stalks toward the portal between the cars, Azria slows to tap the bead in her ear, opening a comm channel to the Knight of Ren she suspected was still atop the roof of the train.

:: Banshee, what is going on up there? Pratts is having trouble accessing some of the aft cars right now. He said something about an EMP disrupting the system back there. System reboot is incoming, but right now, I am flying blind. Sovereign, over. :: Azria pauses to wait and see if the Knight replies, but receiving no immediate response, she moves to the side of the portal and looks to two of the soldiers at the front of her squad. Waiting for them to nod in acknowledgement of their readiness, she slaps her balled fist into the control panel to open the portal between the two cars. Before they walk through, however, she is quick to take the lead, motioning with her free hand that they remain on alert as she slowly slinks forward across the gangway between the cars.  
  


* * *

  _  
Car 22_

Now, here was a woman who was more likely to lead from the front than direct from behind. She was unafraid of what awaited her and it was difficult for any other to ascertain whether her lack of fear came from an unparalleled mastery or just raw nerve. If she was honest with herself, it was a mixture of both. Nevertheless, she paints the picture of discipline and control in her stark black uniform. Pressed to perfection and boots polished to a shine, it is clear that she does not tolerate disorder.

The sight she and her squad came upon was unexpected. While she had been led to believe that the light of the Jedi had been all but extinguished, here stood an ancient relic before her, defiant in existence.

A few moments earlier, the cabin of the twenty-second car belonging to the _Solar Maiden_ had been lively and filled with the hushed din of ongoing conversations. Officers and their families occupied the cabin as they transferred between military bases. What had once been a refined and jovial atmosphere, disappeared within seconds, rendered quiet with the tenseness of a suspended moment. All operations had been normal until the First Commissar’s announcement – the sound of people softly laughing juxtaposed with the clinking of silverware and the soft neoclassical instrumentals of the Imperial Symphony Orchestra.

“There is nothing to worry about, Tasha.” Vastin Motti shook his head dismissively. “The Solar Maiden is well guarded, and quite heavily so from the sound of it.” He placed his hand reassuringly atop his wife’s. “I am sure the Commissar has things well in hand if there are terrorists in the lower cars. And if not, then the garrison stationed between us will handle it.”

Tasha was quick to jerk her hand away from his, rolling her eyes in irritation. “Commissar or not, Vastin, you, as an officer, have a duty to handle this and…”

Whatever point Tasha would have proceeded to make was lost in the thunderous crashing of a transparisteel skylight shattering on the floor. The whoosh of Garqi’s winds came tearing into the cabin, bringing with it the diffuse scent of caf blossoms – the blooms adding their subtle perfume to the sudden rush of commotion.

“Do not be afraid.” A robed man declared as he dropped through the opening in the roof. Within his weather-roughened hands, he gripped a slender metallic cylinder – seemingly, the only thing he appeared to actually own. His hair was a tangled mop of brown and would have resembled the mane of a manka cat had he not been so gangly and skinny. Robes tarnished by time and wear, layers of dirt gave the impression that he was dressed in nothing more than rags. “You must all leave, please. Out through the back, now.” Several hands drifted down to officer regulation-issued blaster pistols, all of which were forcibly extracted from grasping fingers with a wave of a hand.

“Your empire has failed you….failed as it always has. Please, the government you have trusted with your lives has betrayed you. Citizens were executed only moments ago in another cabin.” The man declared, pausing to glance across the faces of those within the maglev car. “I am a Jedi Knight, a peacekeeper!” An audible gasp resounds as whispering slowly spreads through the cabin amongst First Order personnel. “I am all that stands between you and a government that would sooner discard your lives to destroy everything I stand for.”

“I will not see another life lost today.” The robed man straightens his posture and holds his lightsaber at his side. “No one else dies, not while I stand.” A brilliant blaze of celadon plasma rushes forth from the hilt of the saber with a characteristic snap-hiss. Bathing the room in a soft glow and casting the man’s face in shadows, he steps forward and raises his gaze. “Now get behind me!”

It was silent following the Jedi’s declaration for everyone else to get behind him save for the unsolicited intrusion of slow clapping. As she stepped from the shadows, blaster rifle slung over her shoulder, the First Commissar slowly continued to clap. The sound was muffled by the presence of her black leather gloves, but remained noticeable all the same. Her gait was casual, as she sauntered forward, absolutely no hint of hesitation. Stilling her hands, the left corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly. Azria finally deigned to speak after what felt like minutes of silence as she simply stood there assessing those arrayed afore her.

“I will not dispute you there, the Empire did fail, horrendously so. Lacking the discipline and military prowess to keep order as it did, this is unsurprising. However, before you begin leveling blame perhaps you might fancy examining the facts beforehand.” The Imperial’s boots clicked against the obsidian tile of the maglev’s flooring as she strode across it. Clasping her hands behind her back, she came to a stop, still located at least six meters away from the Jedi. Several other masked men and women slowly filtered in through the crowd from the opposing side of the car.

“It was not I or anyone else on this maglev that ordered an extermination. It was merely an unfortunate glitch in the defensive systems coming online, which would not have been triggered had you and your filthy little band of terrorists decided not to trespass on a vehicle which is clearly not your own.” Her voice was steady, thick with the lilt of her Imperial accent. Posture remaining tall and proud, the diminutive woman appeared the picture of calm, almost frighteningly so. “So you see, my dear Jedi, it is you and your friends that are responsible for the only death that has been dealt thus far on my train. Tell me then, who is the one at fault here?”

Her expression was one of casual indifference as she leveled her sapphire gaze on the motley crew assembled before her. “These people have invested nothing of monetary value. We ask nothing of them if only to contribute to investing in a more stable galaxy for the betterment and progress of tomorrow.” Nothing in her face betrayed the inner workings of her mind save for her cold, calculating stare. Otherwise, it was a mask of defiance and surety – this was precisely why she was the ranking officer here.

“Our path to victory is paved through the downfall of your decadent Republic, of which we shall wisely correct the myriad errors and excesses that plague it. As such, it is a great mercy that we bestow upon the galactic citizenry, to have taken upon our shoulders the burden, which your great democracy saw fit to shrug and shrink away from at the expense of the greater good. And for what? To serve the few such a body of power deemed worthy?” The First Commissar’s gaze rose, her scarlet lips pursing in arrogance – though not misplaced from her perspective. “If that is what you view as noble and just, then I pity you, Jedi. I pity you for harbouring such a weakness that forced you to succumb to the propaganda hand fed to you by a Jedi Order stalled in stagnation and a Republic mired in corruption.”

“The only lives lost today are those that you and your terrorist friends have taken. By all means, level unjust accusations at me if it suits you, but make no mistake – those you currently surround yourself with would love nothing more than to kill me and my soldiers stationed here. And for what? I have committed no crime…. Because we share different beliefs? Because we believe in the rule of a firm hand to guide the galaxy to order for its own good?” Shaking her head, Azria softly tsks him. “The stories those ignorant Jedi have filled your head with are nothing more than that, stories. There is no great evil amongst us, except that which you and your friends seek to perpetrate here. There is no great darkness threatening to engulf the galaxy, other than that which your illustrious Order bestows upon us.”

There is a pause before a small, soft laugh fills the air as the Imperial’s gaze is drawn to the Jedi’s lightsaber. “No Jedi, I believe you are the aggressor here. You are the only one here attempting to incite violence. Tell me, who are you to decide what is just and who to draw arms against? Are you not doing the very thing your Order has so eschewed? And here I thought Jedi were supposed to be the bringers of peace, the harbingers of justice – noble and righteous. What I see before me is a terrorist, one who wishes to incite disorder and anarchy in attempt to disrupt the stable and unshakable foundation upon which we shall build our glorious future.”

Pausing once more, the First Commissar looks at each of the interlopers in turn, her lip curling slightly into a sneer before she speaks again, to no one in particular. “Leave my train and all will be forgotten. I will not pursue you and I will not hold you responsible for that which has occurred here this day…. Or… remain here and be party to actions that are certain to place you on the road to becoming that which you claim to abhor. The choice is yours and yours alone.” She stands with an unshakeable confidence, her look knowing as she continues. “No one, man or woman, becomes what they despise all at once. It is through these small seemingly inconsequential actions that it shall occur little by little, through the smallest betrayals and abandonments. So slowly that you do not even realize you are a traitor to everything good and just until it is too late. Tell me, are you willing to take this chance?”

No sooner than Azria finished speaking had the ray shields activated in the blink of an eye as one of the masked men attempted to fire off a blaster bolt in her direction.

“Stow the garbage, Imperial!” The man continues to keep his rifle raised and leveled upon her, despite the futility of such an action right now. But if it made him feel better… “Did you not forget about the live execution your kind aired on Muunilinst? You struck first. Do not blame us for your shortcomings.” She can see the vein bulging in the side of his head now and it is clear that this man, this terrorist, has a bone to pick with the First Commissar. “You speak of peace and order and stability. But I don’t think those words mean what you think they mean…Your ‘peace’ is not a peace anyone deserves.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The true fight begins with the Resistance versus the First Order. In which words are no longer a viable weapon, who will emerge victorious?

_Car 22_

The First Commissar’s azure gaze diverted from the group at large when a sudden movement caught her attention. Flicking her eyes to the interloper currently charging the fulminating curtain of damask energy that separated the Imperial forces from certain danger, Azria stood her ground. It was unexpected, what came next. The roaring warrior broke through the ray shields with the help of an Evasive-226-R Field Disruptor and she suddenly found herself airborne, flying backwards into the far wall that flanked her troops.

And the floor, Azria also found that in short order too. Landing against the far wall with a thud, pain seared through her sternum as the wind is knocked out of her, leaving her gasping for breath as she struggles against the abrupt impact. The Imperial is in agony, her mind fighting to avoid conceding to the torment as she attempts to make sense of what just happened. Clearly, she is breathing, but the air just will not inflate her lungs, as if they are surrounded by duracrete. When her otherwise sharp brain begins to panic, she has to stop herself before she reaches the point of no return.

Seeking the calmness in the corner of her mind, it feels as if she will never breathe again, as if there is nothing but a duracrete weight on her chest. Finally gasping a haphazard breath, her body curls in on itself as she is reduced to something fetal on the filthiness of the obsidian-tiled floor. She sucked in air as if it were treacle, yet the world still blurs out of focus. Attempting to catch her breath, the First Commissar closes her eyes – her surroundings spinning as she crouches there, leaning her forehead against the coolness of the tiled floor. The pain in her sternum burns and radiates around the area, though the wound was cauterized on impact, she is still quite aware of the pain. It takes mere moments before her bio-stabilizer implant begins to go to work, having detected the surge in nerve transmission rates surrounding the impact and subsequent absorption of energy. Painkillers flood her system and it is not long before the First Commissar is able to pick herself up off the ground with very little in the way of refractory pain.

As the world begins to come back into focus, she realizes that Atlantia is currently relaying a message to her, of which she had already missed half. :: …still coming in hard even after going once. We have a bit of a mess on our back though, so might need to pull out soon. Banshee, out. ::

:: Yep. :: Azria says with great effort as she begins to relay their situation to the Knight of Ren over the internal comms, clearly out of breath. Where she would have normally scolded the Knight for her deprave and lewd comments, she suddenly found that she could not spare the energy. :: Could really use your help down here, Banshee. :: Biting her lip, she does not realize that blood is drawn until too late, as her focus returns. It was a good thing they were equipped to deal with Jedi despite the fact that they were supposedly extinct. _Stars_ , what trouble she might have been in otherwise. Still, she could not help but wonder at precisely what it was that the Master of the Knights of Ren was not telling her. There was something more to this jaunt on a maglev over Garqi’s terrain, but she could not put her finger on it.

Flexing her dominant hand, Azria’s gaze is drawn to a pile of pristine Z6 riot control batons that fell out from one of the crates that were knocked over as she was thrown against the back wall. Picking up one of the batons, the adhesion grip of the weapon magnatomically pairs with her glove on contact. This was not a riot situation as this had escalated far beyond and while the batons were meant to be nonlethal, it was all that the Imperial could see within her reach that was capable of withstanding the plasma blades of the saberstaff wielded by Alpharius, the man who had introduced her to his fist.

Her authority was supreme here and apparently, these interlopers needed to be reminded of this fact. A punishment of which she would be more than delighted to mete out. Flicking the baton down to her side, Azria keyed the activation stud that drove the weapon into action – both of the collapsible conductor contact vanes extended from the main body of the baton as she forcefully extended her arm – a torrent of electrical energy rushed over the betaplast housing and began humming and sparking in the expanses between the vanes.

“Kill them all. Every last one.” The First Commissar growls from her position behind the Imperial troopers, holding her head high as she allowed her gaze to drift across the opposing forces. They were nothing more than a mismatched group of bandits. Although they were terrorists, she would not underestimate them again. Azria’s gaze darkened as she moved forward and squared up to Alpharius. Spinning the riot baton off to her side before angling her body sideways, she adopted a wide stance with her knees slightly bent.

“You are filled with anger, contempt for me….” Pausing, she tilts her head back slightly as she regards him with an expression of arrogance. “Your blood boils because of what you perceive I stand for…” The Imperial speaks in a confident lilting tone, teasing almost, as she studies the Infiltrator’s body language. Her blue eyes sparkle with mirth as the left corner of her mouth slowly turns upwards. “No….I have something you want..” The grin that her scarlet lips are twisted into is entirely obnoxious and she knows it. “..Something you desperately desire…” The woman meets his gaze. “Or perhaps…it is the woman inside that you desire.” Chuckling, the Imperial does not break eye contact with him. “Even though she was a traitor and I had every right to destroy her, I promise you I was gentle with her. She is still in one piece…mostly.”

The ivory-hued blades flashed and hummed a low, swift tune as the Infiltrator brought them down to bear on her. There was no hesitation anymore on Azria’s part as she ducked the aft blade that the Infiltrator had meant to be her demise. **SIZZLE! CRACK!** An acrid stench filled the space in which their dance of death had commenced, but the Imperial hardly cared. The burning of her fiery crown of hair only served to remind her to be mindful of that which this man afore her was capable. Punching up toward the ceiling with the hand grasping the handle of the riot baton, she quickly spun it such that the orientation of the tonfa reversed to run the length of her forearm. Meeting the second blade of his saberstaff with a violent crackling of clashing energies, the hum of electricity resounded throughout the compartment of the maglev train car. She had stalled the man’s strike, but was quickly forced to duck the aft blade once more and regressed to put some distance between them yet again.

Back when she had attended the Imperial Academy and in formulating the training regimen for the First Order troopers, Azria had always prided herself in the comprehensiveness of the weapons training she forced herself to undergo. Much like she now emphasized in the First Order, familiarizing oneself with a multitude of weapons was key to successfully combating a wide range of opponents. It made you unpredictable. She was never comparatively large in size, and actually violated several of the physical regulations the Academy had put into place to govern the soldier recruitment processes. However, this had been the _one_ time she had leveraged the pull and power of her family name to get her way. Despite it all, she was tough – and she never, ever quit. While she could not match many of the other Imperial soldiers in terms of physical strength or speed, Azria could still shoot straighter and make them see stars when they stepped into the sparring ring with her. Her advantage was that she could last longer and take a harsher beating. When everyone would have expected the Imperial to give in and go home, she rose to the challenge and soon after, she was the one drawing up fortifications and organizing skirmish lines. It was merely a question of ambition for her.

However, it was not until long after her time spent at the Imperial Academy that Azria received the training that would prepare her for a day such as the one she now faced. That had been a time in her life when she had not actually walked away from a fight.

It was the dead of night on Arkanis many score years past. Lightning flashed across the transparisteel window and briefly ripped through the semi-darkened room with a silent flash of light. The light fell across her face, revealing dilated pupils and full lips pursed in concentration. Sweat beaded on her body, glistening with each arc of lightning as it vaulted through the confines of the room. Rain fell haphazardly from the sky outside, but the lightning that danced through the room, hot on Azria’s tail, was not a product of nature. It was something far more potent, thought to be _unnatural_ by some and merely a manifestation of inner power by others.

The Imperial charged with a mighty cry and was left staring at the emptiness of the air as her opponent dodged to the side in one fluidly effortless move. Swiveling around, her opponent simultaneously turned in her direction. His menacingly calm eyes were a blaze of erythraean amber and the shadows cast by his hood made the rest of his features indistinguishable to her sharp eyes. “ _Again._ ” It was the only word she ever heard from the Master of the Knights of Ren for the longest time. He did not praise her for her successes; such sentiments did not seem to matter in his eyes. However, when she failed – those were the nights she was lucky to still draw breath. He was a man of exquisite control, but his displeasure was made plain – she deserved the punishment she received. The Force Warrior’s indifference to her plight gave rise to a new chapter in her life. That was the night that Azria Delvardus died and the First Commissar was born.

Alpharius, whose identity still remained a mystery to the First Commissar, surged forwards with the grace of a well-practiced bladesman. All the while, Azria could see his lips moving as he appeared to be constantly muttering some muted phrase beneath the din of combat. Only when he drew close enough to strike at her, did she finally understand it was not heart that drove these terrorists, it was senseless insanity.

“Behead the Serpent,” He whispered, “And the Corpse shall wither.”

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” The Imperial says with a grin. “The beheading part.” Bringing up her riot baton, she meets one of the blades of the Infiltrator’s saberstaff again. The smirk slowly disappears from her scarlet lips as she speaks once more. Gone was her cocky tone of voice, replaced by one far more grim and serious – more appropriate for the current situation. “I assure you, I am not so easy to end.”

Disentangling herself from the ivory-hued plasmatic blade, she allows it to pass harmlessly over her head. In that frozen prolonged second, her azure eyes flick to the Infiltrator’s face. His social cues were unreadable, as shrouded as his features were – she could not bank on him making a mistake or even predicting when that might be. Adopting an impassive expression, the First Commissar parried and weaved around the Infiltrator’s strikes, her polished boots squeaking against the obsidian tiles as he hammered at her defenses, attempting slowly to break her. It is then that she finally drives forward and goes on the offensive strike, spinning the baton in an arc away from her body, meant to catch the man in his midsection with the electrified contact vanes.

They were on a collision course as Azria finally quit dancing around the room, her footwork holding the grace of a well-seasoned soldier as she rushed forward to connect with Alpharius. In a shower of sparks and hissing of electricity, the First Commissar met the Infiltrator move for move, not giving him so much as a centimeter. She could see it, the agony written in his body language as his agile movement suddenly became far slower – something had changed. He was hurting from the strike she had landed to his mid-section. When it dawned on him, that he was going to lose this fight, she relished to be given the chance to point out his weakness. She was not being cruel in continuing her pursuit of him; it was an act of mercy and justice combined. This was the only way to spare the misguided Assassin afore her from the horrors of life – by gifting the wonder of death.

What most people did not realize about Azria is that she was turned into a killer by the age of twelve. Much like this confrontation, it was not something born of choice, but rather thrust upon her in the most unpretentious of ways. Although the Imperial appears undeniably callous and ruthless, it is clear that she is not quite bloodthirsty nor does she seem to take personal enjoyment from inflicting such wounds upon others. She took no pleasure from her current actions. None. She only performed her duty, what was necessary. It was not glamourous work serving as a Commissar in the First Order. She was akin to a garbage tech – volunteering for the jobs no one else would, the jobs no one else was capable of doing. Only sent in when morale was low and losing or surrendering appeared to be the only available options. Really, she was little more than glorified space tape, but without someone in her position, the First Order would almost certainly fall apart. This is why she did whatever was necessary, even if it was thankless and ugly.

Pale skin freckled with blood spray, the Imperial bares her teeth in warning to the man with whom she was currently locked in combat. It is then that her control over this situation begins to slip, though she does not realize it just yet. The Assassin only exerted enough energy to hold her attacks at bay before suddenly exploding into action as he unleashed an onslaught of blows upon her resurgent defenses. Her blue eyes flick from the convergence of their weapons to the Infiltrator’s concealed face as she is forced to defend herself and driven into a position not of her own choosing. With her back left undefended, she was gambling with fate at this point.

Then a stillness seems to settle in the air before the twang of a bowstring snapping back into place slices through the clamor and unexpectedly, pain blossoms in her leg. Hazarding a glance down, the First Commissar is loath to find that an arrow has embedded itself in the back of her upper thigh. My, how quickly the tables seemed to turn. There is a wet, balmy sensation that follows and showing very little concern, she notes the various haematic shades of raw and weeping flesh surrounding the shaft and fletching of the arrow. It was merely a flesh wound, no worse than a scratch.

The Imperial says nothing, not a single utterance of pain escapes past the confines of her lips – nothing to give any hint to the severity of the wound currently afflicting her. The pain has a startling warmth to it as it radiates agony from that single condensed point all through her body, though her distress is difficult to miss. As her opponent leverages her sudden weakness, placing an incredible amount of force behind his next effort to cleave her in twain, she attempts to block his challenge to her defense. On impulse, Azria shifts to place her weight on the leg punctured by the arrow, only to be met with naught but the searing reminder of pain. She immediately felt foolish in her clumsy movements as she attempts to regain her footing.

It is that stumble, which starts the cascade of actions heralding her downfall. With the next advance the Infiltrator makes upon her position, what defense she was able to muster is shattered as the riot baton is ripped from her grasp and sent careening across the room. At some point during it all, she loses her balance attempting to steady herself and overcompensate for a leg suddenly incapable of supporting her own weight – how ever meagre it may be. Falling to one knee, something like a raging despair wells up within the Imperial as she holds her hands up in a placating motion and dares the Infiltrator to think that she may actually surrender. In the darkening of her gaze, Azria has dangerous eyes like blue fire as she silently rebukes herself for taking such a risk and being unable to anticipate her opponent’s actions. The stinging wash of anger almost overwhelms the First Commissar; she is not unaccustomed to pain, but rather to failure.

“Choose your next move wisely, _rebel scum_. Because if you do not strike me down, I will come for you.” The fiery woman admonishes him in a warning tone, voice thick with her smooth accent.

Azria had stumbled, but what she did not know was how far she was destined to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Academic/scientific writing is normally my strong suit, so this kind of writing is a bit out of my comfort zone. Constructive feedback is always welcome, though.


End file.
